


Nearsighted

by blooddrool



Series: Sēon [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, hannibal will always be the most qualified man in the room, he also may or may not be a little delerious at this point, injury care, kind of, lots of talking, will is sort of sassy and slick about the entire situation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-30 23:43:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8554336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blooddrool/pseuds/blooddrool
Summary: "It will scar, but I trust you will not be too ugly,” Hannibal smirks with his eyes alone and sets Will’s hand back down on the bed.  He lowers himself without a sound like a great cat, and lays on his side to look at Will like a lover.
His voice comes out quieter now, breath on Will’s ear, “What will you do now, William?”





	

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this in less than two hours; it is unbeta'd and is certainly not my best, but the idea was there so i made it happen.  
> it's hannibal and will right after the fall. there's bantering and affection, and that's pretty much it.  
> genuine criticisms are highly appreciated !!

Hannibal knows who owns the closest property because _of course he does_. Hannibal also knows that the property is only inhabited during the hottest summer months.

It is the vacation home of a very cautious couple who collect first aid kits like Will collects dogs. Luckily for them.

Hannibal had all but dragged Will out of the ocean like Poseidon himself, and he drags Will into the bathroom now - leans him against the sink and turns the shower on to warm, not hot. They have both stopped shivering, but not because they are no longer cold. Will can’t feel his hands. Hannibal’s lips have turned an interesting shade of blue

Will is squinting at them when Hannibal grabs him by the collar of his soaked shirt and says, “Up,” and then, “In,” like the sea’s frozen grip has stolen all his words away.

They stumble rather than step under the shower’s spray together, and Will hisses because the water, no matter how barely-warm-at-all, fucking _burns_. He tries to twist away but Hannibal is right there behind him, holding him by the scruff like a wet dog and. Well. Isn't that fitting.

It doesn't take long for Will to start shivering again as his core temperature rises a little, and Hannibal makes the water warmer to compensate. When Will can feel his extremities again, he wishes he couldn't.

Because _everything fucking hurts_.

Hannibal’s hands are shaking when he pulls his sweater over his head, still in the shower where it's still getting warmer, and they’re still shaking when he works the buttons of Will’s shirt open.

“Will,” he says, voice like a gravel road, and, yeah, okay. Will gets the rest of his clothes off with only a few grunts and groans when his shoulder _screams_ at him to slow the fuck down; it’s not bleeding anymore, and he pokes his tongue at the fucking _hole_ in his cheek and realizes that it’s not bleeding either. Which probably isn't a good thing.

He’s barely on his feet when Hannibal pushes him back out of the shower, and he only peripherally realizes that they’ve both stopped shaking again. But it’s a good sign, this time. It’s a good sign. Yeah.

A towel is being pushed into his hand when he realizes that his eyes had fallen shut. He looks down to wrap it around his waist, and when he looks back up he gets so dizzy that he lets himself slide down to sit up against the lip of the tub.

And he closes his eyes again. . .

And then they fly open and he chokes on a shout when the world _erupts_ white and red and hot, his shoulder and his face and his entire torso and his arms and his legs zing alive in pain. It’s Hannibal shoving him into a chair with all the grace of a fucking avalanche, and Will’s mind zips back to those hazy moments after Chiyoh had shot him in Italy. But he’s not getting stabbed with a needle this time, and Hannibal isn't cold and angry and regretful anymore.

No, Will looks at him (he’s dressed now, and so is Will, in sweatpants a size too big and dark socks - how long was he out?) and sees a wildness to him that makes him blink and reach for him. 

“I threw us off a cliff,” he says, and though it comes out as barely a whisper, Hannibal looks at him with that fondness that makes Will’s chest close up.

“Yes,” and he seems okay with it. Will looks down at the other man’s hands and sees forceps and a suturing needle, and let's himself grin a little, no matter the pain.

“You remember how to use that?”

Hannibal doesn't look at him, just leans over and pushes Will’s arm where he wants it, ignoring the little grunt he makes. His hands are as steady as Will remembers them, and he barely feels the stick of the needle in his shoulder with how everything already throbs.

“I am a doctor, Will,” he says, and he sounds a little out of breath.

“I’m, uh- I’m pretty sure they revoked your license,” Will kind of can’t make his smile go away, and he huffs and squirms in the chair, trying to slip out from under the aches in his bones and trying to get closer to Hannibal at the same time. Hannibal is warm next to him.

“With the whole, y’know,” he goes on, “‘endeavor to preserve human life’ thing.”

“Will.”

“You didn't do that a whole lot,” Hannibal doesn't do anything other than tie off another suture, and Will doesn’t know why he can't shut up, “How was it? Bein’ called _Mister Lecter_?”

Hannibal’s eyes find Will’s, and he _digs_ his fingers into Will’s shoulder wound, and Will is pretty sure he whites out for a minute or two.

When he comes back he's gasping a little and there's tears in his eyes, but he coughs out his soundless laugh, and grips Hannibal’s shoulder with the hand attached to his uninjured arm and says, “Jesus, we’re alive. We’re alive.”

And Hannibal smiles at him.

___________

Will wakes up 18 hours later and feels significantly worse than he did when he passed out. His eye has swollen shut, and with his one good eye he can see that his chest and sides are absolutely blackened with bruising. Hannibal is faring no different, but he’s sitting up and playing with Will’s hand between his own, turning the wedding band on his third finger around and around and around.

“Take it off of me,” Will says - or croaks, rather.

“Your body is fighting infections and your brain has drugged itself to keep you from the pain of your injuries. You are not in your right mind, Will,” Hannibal replies, and his voice sounds like it was aged in a barrel. He has a bandage wrapped all the way around his waist, and Will wonders if he had to cut his whole side open to expose the path of the Dragon’s bullet. Probably.

“Take it off of me,” Will tries to find his eyes, but Hannibal won’t look up, and it’s weird, “I pushed us off a cliff, Hannibal. _Hannibal_ , I fell with you. Take it off of me.”

There's a tug, and Will feels the band he’s worn for two and a half years slide off his finger. He watches Hannibal’s face the entire time. He does not think of Molly.

When Hannibal looks up and meets his gaze, he looks younger than he ever has. He puts the ring on the bedside table like it's the most normal thing in the world, and Will catches his wince, no matter how small.

“He shot you.”

“He shot me. You seemed to enjoy it, at the time.”

“I did, at the time.”

“Seeing me bleed?”

“Seeing you humbled.”

Hannibal’s thumbs trace the metacarpals in Will’s hand, up and down and up and down. He’s watching Will very closely when he says, “But you don't enjoy it now.”

Will smiles, but his face is much more sore now, and he has to close his eye against the sudden slap of pain. It feels like being stabbed again, and Hannibal’s hand is almost immediately brushing his hair away from his face.

“When I saw him stab you, I feared you would lose the eye.”

“But I won't?” Will asks. He tries to find it within himself to be scared, or worried for his sight, but instead he finds only a flicker of anger that the Dragon could wound him this way. Losing an eye is more than just a scar.

“You shouldn't, no. It is only swollen. It will scar, but I trust you will not be too ugly,” Hannibal smirks with his eyes alone and sets Will’s hand back down on the bed. He lowers himself without a sound like a great cat, and lays on his side to look at Will like a lover.

His voice comes out quieter now, breath on Will’s ear, “What will you do now, William?”

And it hurts, but Will turns his head to see Hannibal as clearly as possible. They’re so close that they’re sharing air - so close that Hannibal can probably taste Will’s words when he says, “What I’ve always done: survive.”

“You have been quite successful, thus far.”

“Because of you.”

“Partly, yes.”

“You took off my ring.”

“Yes.”

Will looks at Hannibal's mussed hair, his regal cheekbones, his warrior’s nose, his crocodile teeth, his bruises and bandages. He looks and he sees with clarity. He sees a man scared of Will’s next words. He remembers the Dragon’s blood on Hannibal’s chin, his mouth, his tongue and teeth, and he _sees_.

He sees life.

“Hannibal.”

“Will.”

“Keep me alive. Keep surviving with me.”

Hannibal’s eyes close and he looks _rapturous_. He lays his hand over Will’s neck, thumb on his pulse, and says,

“ _Yes_.”


End file.
